


(Time) Lord of the (Nipple) Rings

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Boarding School, Chains, Closet Sex, Comedy, Crack, Drabble, Gallifreyan Culture (Doctor Who), M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Schoolboys, Traditions, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: A series of ringing endorsements.





	1. Theta

**Author's Note:**

> An 11 year old Best_Enemies Kinkmeme fill for the prompt 'The Doctor gets a nipple ring. Porn ensues.'
> 
> Think of these not all as one story, but of each one as a separate answer to the same prompt.

Koschei sometimes found Theta’s interest in human culture a bit maddening. Their room still smelled of his attempt to keep a pet (Theta wasn’t the most attentive boy in the Citadel, and, like most Gallifreyans, had at best a confused idea of the feeding cycles and diminutive lifespans of lesser creatures). Theta’s attempt to decorate with ‘posters’, apparently traditional on Earth and well-suited to their relative age and studious mode of life, had resulted in a tacky, clashing nightmarescape that Koschei had lacquered over with a pleasant deep blue paint-setting the first weekend Theta had been away. Theta hadn’t been pleased—something about the poster of black clad men standing together having been signed by Joestrummer or someone? They’d had a horrible row about that. Koschei had dismissed Theta’s wails that he’d been wronged and had hinted at further dire consequences unless Theta gave these sad cultural borrowings a rest.

Koschei expected Theta would grow out of his Earth-fixation soon enough, but he was certainly taking his time about it. Koschei had taken to making snide comments about upperclassmen’s robes and how Theta would have to start wearing them eventually. But he hadn’t actually been prepared for non-traditional, human-fancying, ‘nothing touching my neck if I can possibly help it’ Theta to take him seriously for once.

Koschei had dropped his schoolbag with a loud clang upon opening the door. Theta was sitting in front of the window, flicking a paintbrush around his eyes, elaborately garbed in old-calendar Gallifreyan formal dress. At the sound of Koshei’s arrival Theta glared over at him, still apparently carrying a grudge on behalf of this ‘Clash.’

“Shut that, would you? I don’t want anyone else to see me in this ridiculous costume. And don’t get your hopes up: I’m not _listening _to you about ‘embracing my illustrious heritage.’” Theta snorted. “I have a family wedding to attend in a few hours. They’re holding it out in the ancient chapter house, down on the Southern plains. Would you believe my mother just called to remind me that that the dress-code’s Lungburrow-style? As if I could forget.”

Theta wrinkled his nose with distaste as he took a second paintbrush—red instead of black this time—and drew it down the center of his chest in a long, blood-thick line. It traveled from his elaborate gold necklaces, past the rings in his nipples, and down to his navel. “My only consolation in all this is that Brax will look even stupider, because _his _robes are this absolutely vile purple—my dear fellow, what _is_it?”

Koschei was slumped back against the closed, locked door, staring at him.

Black kohl ringed Theta’s large, blue eyes. His long, unruly blond hair looked as though he might have actually _curled _it into _ringlets_. His red silk waistcoat and over-robe had been thrown on his desk in a jumble to lie in wait until the painted designs on Theta’s chest had finished drying. But most remarkable of all was the gold, which glittered everywhere: gold dust powder on his skin; a nose stud; a series of earrings climbing up one ear, linked by thin gold chains that pooled down in soft hoops under his earlobe. Several gold necklaces completely covered his neck. The lowest necklaces dripped down his chest, where they caught the sparkle of the small gold discs there.

“Koschei?” Theta stood in a heavy, musical jangle and waved a hand irritatingly in front of Koschei’s face. “You know I don’t look _paralysingly _ridiculous.” Then Theta coughed. “Er. Koschei, I’m afraid you have a bit of an—”

Koschei was perfectly aware of _that_, and it was more than a bit of one.

Theta crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, well, well. Is _this _why you were such a great advocate of me getting in touch with the Time Lord within? You’ve got a clothes fetish? Hm?” Koschei swallowed hard and stared at one of the gold discs on Theta’s chest fixedly. “You’ve a fine way of letting me know you fancy me, Kosch,” Theta snipped.

“You wanted a declaration of intent?” Koschei managed, a bit huskily, still _looking_, not meeting Theta’s eyes. “I’ve been … interested for some considerable time. It’s not my fault you’re an unobservant idiot. And who in Rassilon’s name says ‘_fancy'_?”

“Well, when were you going to tell me?” Theta leaned forward demandingly, and Koschei shut his eyes and shivered, smelling the schlelek blossom perfume Theta had let drip down his long neck.

“Wasn’t,” Koschei managed. “’s a bad idea. We’re friends. You’re my _best _friend. I’m too attached. You like Earth bands and haven’t any direction – you’re all wrong for me. I should be with someone I’m less foolish about, I shouldn’t _abet _this, this _thing_.”

Theta scoffed, which involved another metallic clatter. “Rassilon’s arse, Kosch, no one’s said _we’d _have to get married. You talk like you’re picking a looming-partner.” He stepped closer. His gold paint was probably smearing Koschei’s robes, and Koschei shut his eyes against the glimmer and perfume and wit of him, against silk and skin, against the endearing strangeness coupled with perfect likeness of mind. “All you have to do,” Theta laid his cheek on Koschei’s, and whispered into his ear, “is fuck me.”

Koschei’s hand twitched above the skin of the small of Theta’s back, longing to touch him, to crush Theta to him, to smear the almost-dry elaborate rosette traced there into a symbol that had no meaning beyond being a record of his touch.

“I can’t.” Koscheitried to slide back into the wood of the door. “Theta, I can’t. I adore you far too much already, without _this_.”

Theta dropped his head and Koschei opened his eyes, staring down at the flashing gold circles that flicked the light of a red sunsetaround the room. Even direct sunlight would have dazzled Koschei less. It could do him so much less damage than the skin before him. How could Koschei explain to Theta that it didn’t matter that he might well love Theta, that he just _knew _this feeling was too much? That it would be the ruin of him?

Theta leaned back, into Koschei’s hand. “Think about it.”

Then he swirled his robes around his shoulders and was out the door, doing up the fastenings as he strode down the hall towards the transport shuttle garage.

In his absence Koschei stared at his paint-smeared palm. Red like the visible guilt of what he already knew he was going to do.

As if he ever thought of anything else. 


	2. Two

The War Chief goggled at the Doctor in the dim light of the supply cupboard. The sliver of light seeping in around the doorjamb caught the ring on the Doctor’s right nipple, making it shine.

The War Chief took a step back and folded his hands over his chest. “Surely you’re joking, Doctor.”

“What? Oh, it’s fun, isn’t it? And I don’t see how you’ve any room to talk.” The Doctor sniffed. “You’re wearing a big bit of costume jewelry ‘round your neck, and you know it.”

“It is a Matrix data-chip, as _you _know,” the War Chief said primly. “But perhaps this too has its uses.” He bent awkwardly in the small cupboard and sucked hard at the ring, tasting skin and metal and the long-missed, apparently unchanging, indefinable note that was purely the Doctor, thick on his tongue.

“OhgodKoschei,” the Doctor babbled immediately, and the War Chief congratulated himself on a good opening salvo. “I need, god, I need—I _need _you to shave off this _rubbish _facial hair that’s scratching at my poor chest—what in Rassilon’s name _are_these?”

“Sideburns!”

“My dear fellow, I assure you they aren’t.”

“Must you make even a brief encounter in a supply cupboard so-so _complicated_?” the War Chief fumed.

The Doctor grinned cheekily. “I’m rather afraid I must.” But to make up for it he drew the War Chief’s head back down to what it had been doing.


	3. Three

The Master stared at the Doctor’s naked torso, absolutely horrified. The Doctor could tell the Master was horrified by the way his entire body was tense as a bow-string about to snap, and because he said “Doctor, I’m absolutely horrified.”

The Doctor, manacled to a wall, huffed manfully. “It’s only a bit of physical adornment, common to cultures the universe over. The Hachemset people mark their chieftains this way—they wanted to honor me after I liberated their village from the tyranny of Crispex the Corpulent. Naturally, I could hardly refuse their gesture of—”

“It’s a _nipple ring_,” the Master hissed, a slight but discernible flush rising on his cheeks. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms. He kept crossing and uncrossing them in from of him, obviously flustered.

“Yes,” the Doctor coughed, mustering a haughty, patronizing tone, “as you so astutely point out, it is a 'nipple ring'. I was just explaining its origin, if you’d care to listen—”

“You allowed some tribe of primitive aliens to gather ‘round to gawk at you while they shoved a bit of no-doubt unsanitary brick-a-brack through your—”

The Master flapped a hand at the Doctor’s body demonstratively. The Doctor bristled.

“Nudity is a natural condition. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of— Look, will you quit staring at it? If you’re so curious about the damn thing, come and get a closer look, why don’t you?”

He’d meant it sarcastically, but the Master took a few steps forward and peered at the little silver circle as if he expected it to jump off and do a dance.

“Fascinating.” The Master brushed it very lightly with the back of his knuckles, and the Doctor swallowed.

“Never mind that.” The Doctor jerked away from the gloved pad of the Master’s thumb, which was skating over the point where the metal connected to the warm brown nipple. “You’ve managed to capture me and truss me up here – what is it you’re planning?” 

“I have, haven’t I?” The Master seemed unaware that there had been a question at the end of that statement. He was also ignoring the Doctor’s attempt to move away from his hand. His leather-clad thumbreturned, tracing a circle around the metal and over the nub of flesh that hid a segment of it.

“You know a minute ago you were appalled by this.” The Doctor stopped squirming when a finger joined the Master’s thumb, pinching the silver and very lightly drawing it up, gingerly tugging the flesh beneath with it. The Doctor’s breath caught.

“Oh, I am,” the Master breathed. “Scandalized.”

“What do you say to a trade?” the Doctor murmured, causing the Master to stop and look up at him. “You forget about whatever it is you’ve got going out there, and I’ll allow you to continue with the ethnographic research you seem so interested in.”

The Master laughed at him. “You know you’re hardly in a position to make demands, my dear.” He slid his hand down the Doctor’s chest to his belt buckle. “But I’ll indulge you, just this once.”

The Doctor’s sardonic _“Thank you” _hitched a bit when the Master knelt to flick the ring up and down with his tongue in careful, precise strokes.

“No more ‘perfectly natural’ nudist cavorting amongst the worshipful, scantily clad primitives?” The Master’s mouth slipped away from the Doctor’s nipple and moved to the other side of his chest, trailing bristly kisses.

The Doctor snorted. “It’s worked out well enough for you this time, you jealous old—_Ow_!” He glared down at the Master, whose expression was entirely innocent, and thus also at the little red bite-mark that now ringed his other nipple. “_All right_, I’ll cater to your absurd conventions of body modesty in future. That _hurt_.”

“Did it?” the Master asked with polite interest before he licked the marks. “I’m terribly sorry, Doctor. I must’ve slipped. How clumsy I can be!” He shook his head, rueful. “You know I think I’m going to like knowing this little bauble is here,” he toyed with it demonstratively, “under the velvet and the frills.”

“Are you going to let me down out of these manacles?”

“Before I’ve fully taken advantage of them?” The Master chuckled. “You know Doctor, your relentless capacity for self-delusion is one of your most charming qualities.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I suppose it’s ‘legs around your waist and irritating scratches from the stone wall on my back’, then. How is it that I’m always the one who winds up in manacles?”

“Because you never put in a decent effort to capture me, of course.” The Master held up his leather-gloved hands to the Doctor’s mouth, expectant. “Your lack of effort has always wounded me very deeply, you know.” He sighed theatrically.

The Doctor glared at him as he bit and pulled the gloves off with his teeth, determined now to find some means of getting the Master thrown in prison.


	4. Four

The Master’s first laugh since he’d been burnt to a crispy hulk derailed into wet, wracking coughs.

Tied up and shirtless, the Doctor grinned imperturbably. A ring, enhanced with a dangling charm (a striped butterfly that might even have matched his scarf), graced his left nipple.

“Where did you—Do I really want to know?”

The Doctor shrugged with that same mad cheer. “Oh, probably not!”

And for all that the Master was still going to try and kill him, the Doctor felt better knowing that at least the old chap had recovered a bit of his sense of humor.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You're My Mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727619) by [OpalEyes2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalEyes2112/pseuds/OpalEyes2112)


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